


Inevitable

by valkyrieturn



Series: Ferdibert Week 2019 Prompts [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Ferdibert Week (Fire Emblem), Ferdibert Week 2019, M/M, Memories of Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrieturn/pseuds/valkyrieturn
Summary: The Day 4+6 Prompts for Ferdibert Week: War and Pining"How long had it been since he was last here? Before the real chaos of the war - before they had been pulled apart at the seams. It felt like an eternity had passed in those few years, but Hubert could still remember that single night with Ferdinand like it was yesterday."In the end, everyone fights their own war. They would have given anything to change that.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: Ferdibert Week 2019 Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561603
Comments: 7
Kudos: 94





	Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, while my Fairy Tale prompt fill for Day 1 was the first fic I ever officially posted, it was the second I wrote in general. This one would be the first.  
> The story here leans toward the heavier side of things, but I love some good angst every now and then. Expect the next prompt to be much more fun though.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. Huge thank you to @Nomad_Dash for beta-ing this! They were a huge help with everything from grammar checks to story cohesion. Please go check our their own work!

If anyone were to accuse Hubert von Vestra of being sentimental, he’d call them a fool. Any other day he would be right, but the war – if it can even be called that anymore – may have been wearing on him more than he realized. As he walked the ravaged streets of Enbarr, Hubert could not help but think of what could have been, and what would come after. _After us_ , he mused. He was no fool. He knew there was little chance of this last stand amounting to much. Nevertheless, he would follow this path, her path, until its end; until his last breath. Whatever happened, she would keep her pride. He took some comfort in that.

He wandered the streets close to the palace, aimless in his strides. Distantly, he realized that he couldn’t remember when he last had this much free time. The thought was enough to bring a wry smile to his face. He drifted past the burned-out ruins of street side cafes and bakeries, all stripped to their bones for supplies by now. The sight brought him back to cold nights surrounded by their warm spices, fragrant clouds billowing out from their doors. Coffee. Tea. “How can you drink that vile concoction?” A smile. He stopped himself. It was almost enough to distract from the stench of gore, smoke and steel; from the distant screams and explosions that were always inching closer. Almost.

For the moment he allowed himself to become lost in memory, letting his feet carry him as they would. An absurd indulgence to be sure, but there was a craving -a want- building inside him that he couldn’t place. 

Before long the grand Mittelfrank Opera House was looming ahead. He grimaced. Perhaps his wandering was not as aimless as he’d have liked it to be. Once lofty and palatial, abandonment had left it a meek shell of its former self. The crest of the roof was no longer so grandiose, its pillars no longer as stately.

This was sloppy. Careless. He could hardly afford distractions like this, not here, not now. He should leave, he still had time before those dogs of the Church were upon him. Time to strategize, prepare. Preparation is everything and he _must_ be ready. “Turn around, go!” he growled. There was no one there to answer. He did not leave.

Hubert inched closer, moving around deserted carts and other detritus as he went. The steps leading up to its entrance had never seemed so imposing before now, a mountain he almost dared not to climb. He began his ascent, an irresistible force drawing him ever forward. His steps were careful and silent as if stalking one of his marks. Any faster and he might startle this ephemeral thing that had settled inside him.

A single Dark Spike was enough to clear the ramshackle barricade blocking the immense double doors, and he pushed his way inside. A heaving groan and a burst of stale air is all that greeted him, some final ghost of civilization fleeing a dying empire. Hubert’s eyes adjusted quickly, taking in the darkened entrance hall. He studied the once vibrant tapestries, now choked with dust. Scenes from fables, operas, and other tales of heroism left to rot like so much else. His feet resumed their steady march.

It was eerily quiet now, a roaring stillness in the air. The loudest thing in his ears were his boots padding along the vermillion carpeting. Once or twice an errant spell or some other explosion shook the building, disturbing loose plaster and other grit that had found places to settle. For the moment though, the war seemed far away.

Hubert only realized he’d reached the upper levels when he ran out of peeling gold leaf to trace. The curtain to a private theater box loomed in front of him. Third story, house right, second to last. _Ah,_ Hubert thought to himself. _I really am a fool_.

He gently lifted the outer drapery and let himself inside. For a moment he gazed out at the theater that had once been so full of life. He slipped off a glove and ran his hand along the outer railing.

How long had it been since he was last here? Before the real chaos of the war - before they had been pulled apart at the seams. It felt like an eternity had passed in those few years, but Hubert could still remember that single night with Ferdinand like it was yesterday. 

In the early days of the war there had been little time to enjoy each other's… company. Hubert had the good sense to take small pleasures where he could though. A smile and a “hello” here, a tea break together there, gazes that lingered a bit too long to be polite. 

He had conditioned himself not to expect anything more. Being the kind of man he was, with the unsavory work he did and the reputation that came with it; things like courting and romance were not a part of that life. No matter how much he might wish otherwise.

Yet when an opportunity presented itself, how could he not take advantage?

He had somehow managed to coax Ferdinand into attending with a truly pathetic excuse, an extra ticket by chance or some other such nonsense. 

_The Light of Fódlan’s Fangs_ had been playing. Star crossed lovers from Brigid and Adrestia seeking each other out in the midst of war, a single lantern to guide them. It was almost comedic in retrospect. 

Most details of the show escape him. He had been too distracted. Ferdinand’s face had lit up during the performance in a way that Hubert had never seen before. The way he sat on the edge of his seat, hands pressed to the railing of their box, eyes wide and a childish smile on his face. His small gasps at every twist and turn. It was… captivating. And that single tear, rolling down his face as the lovers said their final goodbyes. Hubert should have brushed it away for him.

He should have been honest. 

He should have told him as they walked the streets of Enbarr that night. 

He shouldn’t have fought with him so bitterly at the end. 

He should have tried harder to assuage his doubts, to make him understand, why would he not understand!?

Another rumble shook the building’s foundation and Hubert’s eyes snapped open. Only now did he realize he was holding the box railing so tightly his knuckles were white. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, entire body bristling.

 _Thunder_ , he thought to himself. 

If he could feel it from here, the mages were too close for comfort. He needed to be in position _now_. 

He took a single breath to steel himself. In, then out. His glove slipped back over his hand and a sense of finality washed over him. He had wasted enough time over pointless regrets. After Ferdinand had made his choice, he lost his reason to remember. He was a traitor to the Empire. He stood in Edelgard’s way. He deserved to be forgotten.

To defend her ideals, the new world that Edelgard wants to create: that was his purpose. Wavering now would dishonor everything they had worked to build, every sacrifice they had made. No, he resolved to see this through a long time ago.

As he made his way back through the shadowy corridors of the opera house, he could still feel the same tense energy as before; an impending certainty, bearing down on him. How accustomed he had become with playing the hunter, now the force of an entire army rallied against him. 

A smirk curled his lips.

 _I suppose I should be flattered_.

When he reached the doors to the outside world, Hubert felt himself falter. The threshold he was preparing to cross was more than a simple doorway. He knew there was little chance of a grand victory awaiting him outside. Bracing himself against the wooden frames, he bowed his head.

As he stretched his arms out against the oak panels, he noticed a tremor in his hands that hadn’t been there before.

His fingers tightened into a fist as he fought for control, banging it against the wood.

_Was all your talk of resolve just impotent posturing? Will you allow yourself to succumb to some fleeting bout of cowardice?_

He gritted his teeth. He was not some whimpering child who bolted at the sight of his own shadow. For Goddess’ sake he was the right hand of the Emperor.

 _If she could see me like this_ … He burned with shame at the thought.

Even as a mere boy he had known his duty to her. Those nights he spent running through the forests of Hresvelg territory after her were proof enough of that. The only constants had been the snow biting into his soles and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Tripping over roots, chilled to the bone, and carrying only meager supplies with a single dagger: it was a rescue attempt doomed from the start, but still he had to try. His mind wandered back to the night he’d been captured.

He’d avoided his father’s soldiers for days before finally being caught, dragged kicking and screaming back to Vestra manor. They’d tossed him down before his father, all of the house attendants present. They had watched, statuesque, lining the sides of the great hall at parade rest. They hardly seemed any more lifelike than the trophy heads that lined the upper walls, staring down at him mockingly. 

His father stood up mechanically from his armchair by the hearth, allowing Hubert to see the dressage whip he carried almost tenderly in his hands. A silent warning. He might have stopped breathing as his father crossed the chasm between them.

The only noise was the crack of firewood and each of the steps that carried the older man across the immaculately polished floor. Hubert thought every one of them might shatter his ear drums. 

He had looked up at his father when he reached him. The Marquis von Vestra was indecipherable as ever. Not a single emotion played across his face, not even a clench of the jaw. There was no anger. His eyes were serene. He did his best to match that impassive gaze. There would be no begging or crying. He wouldn’t give that traitorous bastard the satisfaction. He shifted onto his hands and knees and braced himself.

His father had beaten him savagely. He did his best to bear the pain, but his body shook with every strike of the whip, threatening to collapse. Each blow landed squarely on his back, but never in the same spot twice. It was his father’s job to know how to maximize pain, often while minimizing damage. He was a very talented man. 

With gritted teeth and a face twisted with the strain, Hubert tried to focus on something -anything- else. Eventually he settled on counting the droplets of sweat that fell from his nose down to the floor below. He watched his reflection silently mouth the numbers back at him.

One.

Two.

Five.

Eleven.

Twenty-three.

Thirty-four.

Then nothing.

He felt numb when he woke up. Fighting through the haze, he realized that someone must have taken him back to his bed. If the lack of feeling in his back was any indication, they’d given him some kind of analgesic as well. 

As awareness began to return to him, Hubert sensed someone else in the room with him. He did his best not to tense out of instinct, instead willing stillness and steady breathing. Slowly he cracked an eyelid, searching for the presence. 

Seated on a child’s stool next to his bed was his father. 

_Come to bask in your victory?_ Hubert wanted to spit, bitterly.

But something was different. His father looked ragged, having shed his earlier formal wear down to a simple blouse and breeches, only keeping his riding boots. 

What shocked Hubert though was that his father was bent over, head held in his hands. Never in his life had he seen him look as small as he did then. The living statue that towered over him earlier that night was a different man altogether. 

The beginning of movement forced Hubert’s eye closed once again, as he heard his father stand up from his seat. He seemed to waver for a moment. Hubert could feel him looming above his bed, gazing down at him. Soon enough he turned and began to leave. Hubert listened for each footfall, measuring the growing distance between them.

As his father opened the door, a sliver of light cut through the darkness of the room. The movement stopped. He wasn’t leaving. Was he waiting for something? Did he know Hubert had seen him?

Possibilities and evaluations flew through Hubert’s head. Slightly unsettled, he dared to crack his eye open once more. 

His father stood in the doorway, looking back at him. He would remember his expression for the rest of his life. 

A profound sadness, but underneath it, something else.

Pride.

More than ten years later, his father would look up at him the same way as Hubert watched him die.

_Damn it all!_

The pain of his knuckles slamming into the door grounded Hubert, wrenching him back to the present.

_Why now of all times!?_

He raised his head, clenched teeth morphing into a sneer.

_Not content to stay dead, are you? Bringing that dishonor upon our house, now pestering me like some kind of phantom?_

What was the old adage? Your entire life flashing before your eyes when faced with death?

Well, Hubert would be damned if he let some unwieldy memories stop him from completing his service to the Emperor.

Regrets, remorse, fear… he had cast such things away a long time ago. They would not hamper him now when stakes were at their highest. 

Hubert summoned up his strength and pushed his way out.

* * *

As he emerged into the outside world, it was immediately apparent how much the fighting across the capital had progressed. Each breath was tinged with smoke, a haze having settled in the air. 

The ringing clashes of steel on steel seemed closer than ever as well, the distinct cries of battle only a handful of city blocks away. Above the din, Hubert could even make out what sounded like the inhuman cries of some great beast.

 _The savage Boar-King_ , he realized with disgust.

No doubt tearing his way through their foot soldiers like paper. He had witnessed the Boar’s ruthless streak first hand in the battle and ensuing carnage of Gronder Field. If he was leading the front lines into Enbarr, then they would have to fortify the palace’s-

“Hubert.” 

A familiar, steady voice called out to him, seizing Hubert’s attention away from his schemes.

He looked down from the steps of the opera house out over the plaza. At the end of the avenue leading to the Mittelfrank, making his way closer. He could recognize that shock of orange hair from a mile away, let alone the some hundred feet that now separated them.

Ferdinand.

Hubert’s chest tightened as a searing weight bloomed in his stomach. He slowly began to make his way down the steps before him, trying not to look as shaken as he felt. 

_There is only another enemy, another obstacle, before you. Nothing more._

He wished he believed himself. 

As he drew closer he could see Ferdinand’s chest rise and fall with labored breaths, as if he had just finished an arduous run. The spear resting at his side. The flecks of someone else’s blood across his face.

“Oh, a personal visit from the Duke Aegir himself! To what do I owe the honor?” Hubert crowed, embellishing with a derisive bow as he reached ground level. “Does your precious king know you’ve wandered off all by yourself?”

A wistful expression crossed Ferdinand’s face before he turned his gaze downward. Seconds passed, a single lock of hair falling across his face. When he raised his eyes there was a newfound determination in them. His grip tightened on his spear.

The two men stared at each other from across the square.

“No one knows. I wanted to find you myself,” he said, looking up towards the Mittelfrank. A sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I had a feeling you might be here.”

The heat pulsed in Hubert’s stomach. 

He forced himself to laugh, barely able to push the sound out.

“Hah! Come to try and sway me then? Help me to see the error of my ways?”

“I know you better than that.” That sad, weary smile returned to Ferdinand’s face. It made Hubert’s chest ache. “You have already chosen what you are willing to fight for, have you not?” He looked away once again.

“Everyone else, they… they do not know you like I do. They would try to kill you on sight. Coming here, I wanted to see you, to talk to you. I wanted to understand-”

“Tut-tut, Ferdinand,” Hubert interrupted.

 _Please, don’t say anything more_. _Don’t make this harder._

“I hope you haven’t come offering your enemy aid and succor of all things. I would hate for you to make a habit of treason, especially after-”

“Damn you, Hubert!” 

Ferdinand’s outburst silenced him.

“Stop playing these games with me! You know why I left. I could not watch Edelgard, couldn’t watch _you_ , throw away your humanity for the sake of…”

Ferdinand swept an arm, gesturing to the abandoned city around them.

“For this! At this rate there will not be any of Fódlan left to change, no Empire to build on! What point is there in fighting for an ideal future if there is no one left alive to see it?”

Ferdinand stopped himself, regaining his composure. They were both silent as the sounds of battle echoed around them. Hubert felt as if he couldn’t stare directly at him, a fire too bright for his eyes.

Raising his eyes back to Hubert, Ferdinand’s gaze pierced him, eyes indignant.

“When did you lose sight of that, Hubert? Have you not seen what this war has done to her? At some point you crossed a line from helping her to enabling this… this madness.”

_I don’t know what else to do for her._

“The Hubert I knew could tell the difference,” Ferdinand pointed his spear towards the Mittelfrank, almost on the verge of tears. “Do you remember that night we spent here together?”

 _Please don’t_.

“I wish I had the courage to talk to you honestly then.”

 _Please_.

Ferdinand sobbed. “Maybe _then_ we could have-”

“Ferdinand.” Hubert’s own voice surprised him. It was quiet, like a child’s. Any of the force that was there before had gone.

“You don’t need to say it. I know.”

Ferdinand looked to him, the very picture of dejection. But there was an understanding between them. They let the moment stretch, the silence carrying more meaning than words ever could.

Ferdinand was the first to speak.

“I would have given anything to stop this.”

_So would I._

“There was a part of me that knew though. Knew that we would find each other like this. I did not want the others... they would not-”

Ferdinand faltered, fighting against himself to find the right words.

“I wanted to be the one to-”

 _I know_ , Hubert thought.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Hubert said.

Ferdinand eyes lit up with a kind of despair Hubert had seen many times before in doomed men. A conclusion closing in from all sides. An inescapable fate laid out before them. He wished he could go to him. Comfort him. Anything to take the burden of that pain away.

Ferdinand was staring at him with a mixture of tenderness and pity, resolve crumbling with each passing second. His spear looked as if it would drop from his grip at any moment.

“Hubert, I can’t, I-”

_You were always too kind for your own good._

“Duke Aegir,” Hubert called out, shaking Ferdinand from his stupor. He began to close the distance between them, gait steady and solid. His hands raised as he allowed dark energy to crackle into his palms.

_It’s better this way._

“You face Hubert von Vestra, head of the Marquisate of Vestra, general of the Adrestian Empire, and right hand to the Emperor herself. Look alive.”

Slowly, the doubt and confusion that had blemished Ferdinand’s face began to fade. In its wake, there was a kind of stoicism that began to take over. Not acceptance, but a resignation.

Ferdinand’s grip on his spear tightened as he shifted to a readied stance. Feet centered, his blade whistled as it cut upwards through the air. For a moment it hung there, before it began to whirl above his head, blurring with speed. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, it slashed downwards and was still, leveled at Hubert with a single hand.

“And your challenger is Ferdinand von Aegir, Duke Aegir, and knight in the service of his majesty King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

The two of them stood apart, barely fifty feet now separating them. In that moment, the sounds of war faded away into the background. The air stood still.

Ferdinand moved first.

Pushing off with his back foot, he launched himself forward with a bounding stride, spear extended towards Hubert’s chest.

Hubert watched, mind racing, as the other man flew towards him. Orange hair crested into a halo around Ferdinand as time slowed to a crawl.

_He’s thrown his mass into a forward strike, pivot away then counter before he recovers._

_You know better than to rush in like this, you’ve left yourself open to me._

Hubert twisted to the side and launched himself backwards, hair fluttering as the spear tip rushed through the air where he had just been. 

His hands glowed as he readied his magic, launching a Banshee aimed at Ferdinand’s flank.

_Take control of his movement and this is as good as over._

_Will you really let me best you so simply?_

With a crushing stomp, Ferdinand ceased his momentum and veered around towards the spell. Face grimacing with exertion, his spear shot upwards with an underhanded strike, making contact with the ball of energy only an instant before it connected. It burst as he cut through, forcing him back as his boots skidded along the stone underfoot. 

As the dust cleared, they were left sizing each other up once more.

_Of course it wouldn’t be that easy._

_I knew you were better than that._

Silently, they began to circle one another, neither moving to press the attack. 

As Hubert readied his magic once more, he could hear the sounds of that once far away war returning to them. They were running out of time. There was no telling how soon the fighting would spill into the square. 

_The next strike will be the deciding one. I have to finish this._

_You have to finish this._

Gathering power, Hubert focused himself. He let the familiar eerie strain build in his hands as he narrowed his attention down to Ferdinand.

Ferdinand had already assumed another ready stance, both hands gripped steadily along the shaft of the spear. Its point was an unflinching arrow directed at Hubert’s center.

They both knew where they stood; what the next movement would mean. 

This time it was Hubert who moved first. 

He pulled one hand back and the other forward taught, as if drawing a bow. He allowed the force he had gathered to channel into the extended palm, directing it with every ounce of his will.

Ferdinand took off with a forward leap, crossing the distance between them in mere moments.

_Now._

Hubert cast out all of the accumulated magic at once into the strongest spell he could muster: Death.

The air around Ferdinand sparked and shimmered violet as the dark energy was primed to detonate.

He was close enough that Hubert could meet his eyes. There was no fear. Only a grim determination.

_Of course you knew._

As the air around Ferdinand erupted into shadowy flames, he threw himself to the left and rolled, wincing as his right side was scorched. In an instant he was propelling upwards from a knee into a surging thrust.

Hubert made to move back, scouring his mind for defensive options.

_You can still counter._

He watched as Ferdinand’s long hair blew around his face. 

_There’s still time._

His soft, gentle features turned to stone.

_Move away._

Those sad amber eyes.

_Move-_

His smile had been so beautiful that night.

_I truly am glad it was you._

As the spear pierced his chest, it felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. There was little pain, only a sensation of heavy weight and a coldness spreading through his frame. Distantly he could feel himself falling backwards, and Ferdinand with him, hands still on the spear shaft.

He coughed as he hit the ground, tasting blood. There was only endless sky above him. 

Hands reached under his back as he was propped up and his head cradled. Orange tresses of hair cascaded into his vision.

“Hubert!”

Ferdinand’s shout drew him out of his reverie. He looked up, only now seeing the other man’s face. It was contorted with grief, tears pooling in his eyes. Hubert thought he was beginning to understand how his father had felt. 

“Well fought,” he wheezed. “An excellent strike…” Another wet cough. “To be sure.”

“Stop talking!” Ferdinand choked out. “There’s still time, we just need a-”

His eyes were wide and panicked as his head whirled about the square.

“Mercedes! Marianne!” he screamed. “Anyone!”

There was no answer but the sounds of war around them. 

Ferdinand clenched his eyes shut as tears started to flow in earnest.

Weakly, Hubert managed to lift a hand. He brought it to Ferdinand’s face, brushing a tear away. He lingered there, fingers daring to caress his cheek.

Ferdinand’s eyes shot open, shocked. “What are-”

“Simply doing something... I should have a long time ago,” Hubert rasped. “I owe you for that night, remember?”

Recognition flooded Ferdinand’s face as a strangled cry escaped him. He grasped Hubert’s hand, pressing it to his cheek.

“You damn fool,” Ferdinand sobbed. “I never wanted this!”

“That I am…” Hubert managed a small smile. “Part of me always wondered what-” Another coughing fit. More blood.

“Hubert!”

“-what would have happened if… if I was a different person. A better man.”

“I never wanted you to change!” Ferdinand cried. “I just couldn’t- I’m sorry that-”

“Now, now…” Hubert gently chided him. “We both made… our choices. Did what we… thought was… right. No apologizing for that-” 

He choked on the last word, blood pooling in his mouth. Each breath was becoming more difficult than the last. He couldn’t seem to feel much besides Ferdinand’s hand in his own.

Ferdinand’s grip tightened.

“Enough, you have to save your strength.” Ferdinand did his best to give an encouraging smile. “If you can just hold on-”

“If anyone is owed... an apology… it’s you,” Hubert coughed. “You said you wanted... to be honest. I did too... so desperately. And to leave you now without…”

“Don’t say that! You can’t-”

“I really did love you… in my own flawed way. I’m sorry I… took this long… to say…”

“No! That’s not fair!” Ferdinand cried out. “You can’t just tell me that and-”

Hubert’s body was racked with another coughing spasm. Blood was starting to flow freely from his lips. His eyes couldn’t seem to stay open.

“Oh Goddess, Hubert please don’t-”

“Ferdinand…? Are you still there...?” Hubert murmured. 

Ferdinand swallowed the howl trying to claw its way out of his chest.

“Yes, Hubert. I'm here,” he said as gently as he could.

Hubert smiled. He looked up towards Ferdinand, eyes unfocused.

“You were… right. Advisors should… be honest. Edelgard… needs help. I couldn’t… Please be brave… for me. Braver than I...”

Ferdinand tenderly brushed Hubert’s hair back. He smiled back at him through the tears.

“I’ll help her Hubert. You’ve worked so hard… you can rest now.” He leaned closer, moving his hand down to caress one of Hubert cheeks. Ferdinand drew their lips together into a soft kiss.

“And I loved _you_ , in my own flawed way,” Ferdinand choked out.

Hubert could feel warm water lapping at his back. He closed his eyes. Everything seemed so far away now.

“Ah… that makes… me… happy…” he whispered. And, in Ferdinand’s arms, he goes.

Ferdinand could feel it the moment it happened; a lightness in Hubert’s body. For a time he sat, just holding him. Eons might have passed before he decided to move again.

He gently laid him down, brought his arms to his chest, then gingerly removed the spear.

Getting to his feet, he looked down at Hubert. There was a peaceful smile on his face. If Ferdinand didn’t know better, he’d think he was sleeping. 

He stood over him, as if keeping vigil. Time passed, but had lost all meaning. The very air itself seemed to press down on him.

Ferdinand threw his head back and let out a scream loud enough to silence the war.

**Author's Note:**

> @valkyrieturn on Twitter


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